Rap music is a symptom of gun-ridden cities, not a cause

The New Year party massacre in Birmingham that claimed the lives of two innocent teenagers was a tragic and terrifying manifestation of the growing trend in gang-related gun crime in this country.

Like so many other citizens, I find myself almost incredulous that such an American-style crime could occur in England, and I worry about what it portends for the future. But I have to take issue with those ministers whose reaction has been to blame, of all things, pop music.

It was with a familiar sinking feeling that I listened to the culture minister, Kim Howells, on Radio 4 accusing rap and garage music of "glorifying" violence and creating a culture in which "killing is almost a fashion accessory".

Singling out So Solid Crew, Mr Howells said: "For years, I have been very worried about these hateful lyrics that these boasting, macho, idiot rappers come out with." The Home Secretary, David Blunkett, joined the chorus blaming the recording industry. Proclaiming himself "appalled" by rap lyrics, he said: "We need to talk to record producers and distributors and those engaged in the music business about what is and isn't acceptable."

Serious crime in Britain appears to be inexorably rising. Social division is rife. Large sections of Britain's poorest communities are alienated and distrustful of authority. State education exists in a constant state of crisis. The prison system teeters on the verge of breakdown.

Police morale is low, with a demonstrable failure to come to grips with inner-city lawlessness, while organised gangs (many of which originate abroad) battle for control of a rapidly expanding market for crack cocaine. But we can all sleep safer in our beds tonight, secure in the knowledge that the Government is going to have stern words with the recording industry.

Why am I not in the least surprised that ministers would cynically try to distract attention from the failures of their own policies by pinning blame on a popular bogeyman? We have been here before, of course: teddy boys, mods, hippies, punks and ravers have all at one time or another been blamed for the world's ills.

I once heard Mr Howells, in a bar, declaim the entire seven verses of Bob Dylan's Tangled Up In Blue. I suspect that he hasn't made the same effort to familiarise himself with the lyrics of the contemporary rappers he so despises.

The much maligned So Solid, for instance, proclaim on the aggressively titled **** Wid Us: "If I kill you then my life's a mess/ Give me the mic, and let me do what's best/ Express my mental stress. Give me the vibe and let me write - I'm blessed." A rough translation would be: "The pen is mightier than the gun." This is a message you will hear throughout rap music if only you listen close enough.

That elements of hip hop exhibit belligerently nihilistic tendencies is undeniable. There is certainly a strand of rap in which manhood and firearms are strongly linked, but then the fact that boys like to play with guns should come as news to no one. Questions might more usefully be asked about where they are getting their guns from.

Ten years ago, "gangsta rap" was far more virulent in tone than it is today, yet there was no corresponding explosion in gun crime. One would have thought that the flood of illegal weapons arriving in this country from eastern Europe would be of greater concern to ministers than a few rappers telling urban war stories. As Eminem points out on Sing For The Moment: "They say music can alter moods and talk to you/ Well can it load a gun up for you, and cock it, too?"

The violence and criminality in rap are a symptom, not a cause, of the lawlessness in certain strands of modern urban life. Rap lyrics reflect the reality of poor, black, inner-city life and, in so doing, speak to an audience otherwise disfranchised by much mainstream popular culture.

"I never see black faces on the cover of books," a 13-year-old black girl recently told me. "You don't see many black men saving the world in movies," a 14-year-old black boy pointed out. Rap music is where they find expressions of their identity, in all its diversity and complexity. Much of it is highly positive (as in the lyrics of artists such as Ms Dynamite, herself a collaborator with So Solid Crew), and some more morally ambivalent - but none of it exists in a social vacuum.

I am involved in a mentoring scheme funded by Crime Concern in the London borough of Camden, the aim of which is to assist pupils in their mid-teens who are failing in school and considered at risk of becoming offenders. The majority of youngsters on the scheme are black. When I listen to them talk about their lives, I realise that this country is more divided than most of us ever imagine.

The boys in particular are obsessed with mortality and have genuine fears of meeting a violent end. Mugging on the estates where most of them live is endemic. Career options are limited, there is a sense of hopelessness about the future and crime is an everyday fact of life.

Many of them like to rap, and music is one of the things that most lifts their spirits, embodying the possibility of escape, not just economically but spiritually, at least temporarily lifting the burdens of life as they lose themselves in their favourite tracks. That they engage with the sense of rage and injustice that fuels so much rap is, perhaps, disturbing, but not quite as disturbing as acknowledging that this is their reality. As the high mortality rate among rappers in America indicates, the genre of music that so offends Mr Howells is, quite literally, a matter of life and death for those involved, resulting in a forum of such urgency it makes most pop sound banal.

"Lord knows I tried, been a witness to homicide/ Seen drive-bys takin' lives, little kids die/ Wonder why as I walk by/ Broken-hearted as I glance at the chalk line, gettin' high/ This ain't the life for me, I wanna change/ But ain't no future right for me, I'm stuck in the game/ I'm trapped inside a maze."

That is a quote from So Many Tears by Tupac Shakur. I would like to say to Mr Howells and all those who would censor rap music: "Don't shoot the messenger." But, of course, in Tupac's case, somebody already did.